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bottleswater softenerwater towerweather guessersweather-guessersweddingweekend stuffweight gainweird facts about mewell problemswell pumpwestminsterwhat is this bird?what was I thinkingwhere have all the readers gonewhippoorwillswhite-tailed deerwhizzowhywhy?widowhoodwild birdswild grapevineswildflowerswildlife camerawillwindwind chimewindow gardenwine countrywinter of lifewintertime cravingswireless Internetwoe is mewolveswoo-hoooword verificationwordswreckwrestlingyahooyellow-jacketyo-yo dietingzucchiniJUST MEMy Country Lifehttp://donna-justme.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Donna)Blogger4048125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-7019125352796271235Sun, 02 Aug 2015 12:10:00 +00002015-08-02T07:14:39.737-05:00Connecting with the past<b>Cliff recently read an article in one of his tractor collector magazine that explained how tractor collectors are fewer than they once were; evidently the height of the antique tractor craze is over. &nbsp;I suppose this is good news for anybody wanting to buy an old, collectible tractor, because the prices are dropping.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>The reason the craze is dying out is that the collectors are dying. &nbsp;If you go to a meeting of our tractor club, you need only take a look around at the group to realize it's an old man's hobby; they are connecting to their youth. &nbsp;Most of them have restored a tractor like the one Dad or Grandpa had when they were kids. &nbsp;Cliff's current favorite restoration is the Oliver like the one my cousin had when we were in our twenties: &nbsp;A few times Cliff helped him work the ground in preparation for planting. &nbsp;The first time, Gerald put him on a D-19 Allis Chalmers. &nbsp;It was one of the high points in Cliff's life, and in the 80's, when Cliff could afford it, he bought a worn-out D-17 Allis and fixed the flaws a little at a time. &nbsp;When her paint became dull, he'd repaint her and put on new decals. &nbsp;That was one of his dream tractors.&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Later on, Gerald moved up to bigger tractors. &nbsp;So when Cliff helped him then, he got to plow with a 2255 Oliver, a behemoth similar to the 1855 sitting in our shop. &nbsp;At that point, Cliff had a new dream tractor, and that's the reason he owns a big green tractor for which we have absolutely no use.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>He's connecting to his younger days. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I suppose that's what most antique collectors are doing, whether it's cars, dolls, handkerchiefs, or old gas pumps: &nbsp;People tend to look for things that remind them of the happy times of childhood and youth. &nbsp;The good old days.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Today's tractors are computer driven and mostly plastic, and it's the same with cars. &nbsp;I see no way they could possibly be restored. &nbsp;But I'm sure today's generation will find something to collect when they reach retirement age, that makes them hark back to simpler times. &nbsp;Their first computer maybe? &nbsp;The first Iphone they owned? &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>OK, maybe not. &nbsp;Perhaps the pictures on their computers will be all they need to remind them of the good old days.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/08/connecting-with-past.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-3349136402939541974Sat, 01 Aug 2015 21:43:00 +00002015-08-01T16:45:18.303-05:00Something I've learned late in life<b>Since I've had a knee replacement that served me pretty well for two years and has since let me down, I've learned a few things the hard way. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I went to an ortho doc when the knee started hurting again; he seemed to think my artificial knee was basically sound. &nbsp;So there's that. &nbsp;He was willing to do this and that to find out why that knee hurts, but I'm unwilling to go down that road. &nbsp;It hurts as badly as my other knee, except that the real knee pops often (painfully) when I bend it; I am spared that particular pain with the replacement.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When I've talked with folks who have had a successful replacement who inquire about my own, and I answer them truthfully (hopefully without whining), I sometimes get this: &nbsp;"Well, I have never had a problem... but then, <i>I</i> did all the exercises just like they told me to."</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Implying, of course, that I did not. &nbsp;But I <i>did</i> do the exercises, and, as I said before, for two years I was trouble-free. &nbsp;My cousin, Gerald, had surgery about the same time I did, and he hasn't had the best of luck either. &nbsp;He did the exercises so much, and for so long, that his wife thought he was overdoing it! &nbsp;He didn't even get two years pain-free. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>You can ask any orthopedic surgeon and he will tell you that one person in ten has less-than-perfect results with replacement surgery. &nbsp;Just because yours went well, Pearl Pureheart, that doesn't mean it's my fault that my experience is less than perfect.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Here's the lesson: &nbsp;I have said the same things in the past about people who have had trouble with knee or hip replacements, although I don't think I said the words to their faces. &nbsp;But I would say to others, "He must not have done the exercises like he was supposed to." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Holier-than-thou? &nbsp;Know-it-all? &nbsp;Yeah, that would be me; what could I possibly know, when I hadn't even had the surgery? &nbsp;So now when I get that kind of remark I sort of cringe with guilt. &nbsp;</b><br /><b>The same thing goes for people we hear of who have been diagnosed with cancer: &nbsp;"Oh well, he smoked, you know." &nbsp;"She does drink a lot of diet soda, that could be the problem." &nbsp;"Well, we all know how much junk food that family eats." &nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Do you really think it helps to place blame for cancer on the person who has it? &nbsp;Even if there is a grain of truth in your accusations, it's wrong. &nbsp;Whether you are talking directly to them, or are discussing them with someone else, it's wrong. &nbsp;Keep your thoughts to yourself. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>It isn't a compassionate attitude.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I have always had a real problem with people who are constantly taking pain pills. &nbsp;I'm talking about those who, every time you see them, are tossing down ibuprofen or Tylenol, or even prescription meds, like it's candy &nbsp;They seem to be sick all the time!</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>And now, guess who seldom goes a day without taking some sort of pain relief, usually ibuprofen, but on really bad days, it's the stronger stuff. &nbsp;Yeah. &nbsp;Me.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Life's little lessons are never easy. &nbsp;</b><br /><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/08/something-ive-learned-late-in-life.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-804145846288232645Sat, 01 Aug 2015 12:18:00 +00002015-08-01T07:18:18.208-05:00Pigs grow fast<b>Especially when they get almost two gallons of milk every day.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-raRTFR590QA/VY_U3a58ItI/AAAAAAAAVlM/jnYUDiu1adY/s1600/pig2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-raRTFR590QA/VY_U3a58ItI/AAAAAAAAVlM/jnYUDiu1adY/s1600/pig2.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>This is how Stanley looked on June 28, about five weeks ago. &nbsp;The farmer who sold him to us figured he weighed about 18 pounds. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-saP5X_2QBlU/Vby3nnSJcVI/AAAAAAAAVpU/ZAAt-2sqQZU/s1600/stanley%2Bnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-saP5X_2QBlU/Vby3nnSJcVI/AAAAAAAAVpU/ZAAt-2sqQZU/s640/stanley%2Bnow.jpg" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>I took this picture of Stanley yesterday. &nbsp;Amazing, right? &nbsp;I keep saying he weighs at least 50 pounds, but honestly I don't have a clue. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>It's hard to know exactly how to formulate his diet. &nbsp;You can't just feed a pig corn and expect him to grow well; they need a certain amount of protein to make the corn do what it needs to do. &nbsp;I know Stanley gets lots of protein from all the milk he drinks, but is it enough? &nbsp;I still give him some supplemental protein once in awhile. &nbsp;I must be doing something right, from the looks of him.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Protein is pretty pricey. &nbsp;Corn, right now, is fairly cheap, all things considered. &nbsp;So the less protein I have to buy for him, the better. &nbsp;I suppose I had better keep on milking that cow!</b><br /><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/08/pigs-grow-fast.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-3673505547222340991Fri, 31 Jul 2015 14:28:00 +00002015-07-31T09:28:35.300-05:00Tomatoes<b>Because of our record rainfall, this has been a good year to discover just how well the various tomato varieties will (or won't) perform. &nbsp;While there are NO tomatoes producing as they should, or escaping blight problems, some are more promising than others. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I tried two heirloom tomatoes, <a href="http://bonnieplants.com/product/mr-stripey-heirloom-tomato/" target="_blank">Mr. Stripey</a> and <a href="http://www.burpeehomegardens.com/VegetableHerbGardening/PlantDetails.aspx?plantid=5440&amp;highlight=black+krim" target="_blank">Black Krim</a>. &nbsp;Mr. Stripey obviously doesn't like wet weather. &nbsp;We have not had one bite of a tomato from that plant, and the way things are going, we won't. &nbsp;The Black Krim is producing a few large fruits. They really are tasty, but&nbsp;</b><b>Cliff doesn't like them because they are ugly. &nbsp;</b><b>However, the taste is like that of the old Ponderosa tomatoes I used to love so well: &nbsp;Low-acid, large, and meaty. &nbsp;Sort of a beefsteak tomato... and I believe I've found one of those I will try again: &nbsp;<a href="http://www.burpeehomegardens.com/VegetableHerbGardening/PlantDetails.aspx?plantid=5086" target="_blank">Brandy Boy Hybrid</a>. &nbsp;It isn't doing the greatest this year, but I believe it will do well in a "normal" year. &nbsp;It bears large, meaty fruits that taste like my <a href="http://www.heirloom-organics.com/guide/va/1/guidetogrowingponderosa.html" target="_blank">Ponderosa</a>. &nbsp;Oh, how sweet it will be to taste such a tomato again.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>My main tomato crop is made up of <a href="http://parkseed.com/celebrity-hybrid-tomato-seeds/p/05337-PK-P1/" target="_blank">Celebrity</a> plants, which normally survive the curse of blight to a great extent. &nbsp;They are giving me some fruits, but in a normal year I would have canned dozens of quarts and be giving tomatoes away. &nbsp;I won't be canning tomatoes this year. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I tried two other new hybrids, the most promising of which is <a href="http://www.burpeehomegardens.com/VegetableHerbGardening/PlantDetails.aspx?plantid=5392&amp;highlight=big+daddy" target="_blank">Big Daddy</a>. &nbsp;Twenty years ago I would plant two varieties of tomatoes in my garden: &nbsp;Big Boy and Rutgers. &nbsp;Because of blight, I gave up on both of those, but I believe Big Boy lives again in the Big Daddy plants! &nbsp;None have ripened, but there are HUGE green tomatoes there, and while the plants have quite a bit of blight, it isn't as bad as the others, and so far none of the green tomatoes have spots on them... did I say they are HUGE? &nbsp;The other new variety I sampled is Cloudy Day hybrid. &nbsp;It's handling the blight as well as could be expected, but the tomatoes are pretty small.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>So, next year, God willing that I live to see it and can still walk to the garden, I'll plant Celebrity as a main crop (as usual) and Big Daddy and Brandy Boy for the table. &nbsp;I noticed that a search on the Burpee site no longer brings up the Cloudy Day hybrid, so I imagine it was a colossal failure with everyone. &nbsp;I don't mind cherry tomatoes and grape tomatoes, but I don't especially want a plum-sized tomato.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>There you have it, a tomato review from a mediocre gardener.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/tomatoes.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-6685268372676353585Sat, 25 Jul 2015 16:57:00 +00002015-07-25T14:23:38.825-05:00Meet Erin, as I answer her milking questions<b>Someone who had never commented on my blog left her first comment the other day. &nbsp;Since the name she uses to comment on Blogger is Erin from Iowa, I left a question for her in the same comment section, asking in what part of Iowa she lives. &nbsp;She came back with this response, still in the comment section:&nbsp;</b><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><b>"Hello again! I live in a loft style apartment in downtown Des Moines,Iowa. My three daughters also live in DSM with their families. I am deaf and lip read. I have lots of windows so I enjoy gardening with my houseplants. I also keep busy cooking, baking, reading, knitting, sewing, the list goes on. One good thing reading your blog did for me was made me realize I could get a breast reduction. Which I did in 2008. Five pounds off each side! I tell folks get two five pounds bags of flour and hold them to your chest. That's what it was like. So I thank you for being so forthcoming and helping others. :)"</b></span><br /><b><br /></b><b>I don't get nearly as many comments in my comment section as I once did, chiefly because I share each entry on Facebook as soon as I finish it. &nbsp;(That's too soon, because I often find myself fixing typos and correcting stupid mistakes after several people have read it, but being polite folks, they don't say anything.) &nbsp;These days most of the comments on my entries are on the Facebook update. &nbsp;So this was a nice surprise, and a reminder that you never know whose life you may be influencing.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>On my last entry, she posted some questions. &nbsp;Being a city gal, she doesn't know any of the old-timey farm basics, and was curious. &nbsp;So I'll answer those questions for her and my other "townie" readers.</b><br /><b>&nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><b>"Do you have a post showing the steps taken to home pasteurize milk? How to get the cream off? How to store the milk and cream. You never know when city folk might find a source for the real deal."</b></span><br /><b><br /></b><b>If you click on <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Pasteurize-Milk" target="_blank">THIS LINK</a>, you will see how to pasteurize milk at home. &nbsp;If you want to spend $400 or so, you can order a pasteurizer (click <a href="http://hambydairysupply.com/xcart/product.php?productid=189&amp;cat=226&amp;page=1" target="_blank">HERE)</a>. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Around here, we drink raw milk. &nbsp;Yes, we do. &nbsp;In the interest of world health, let me give you a warning from our government, because we all know they have our best interests in mind: &nbsp;</b><br /><h2 style="background-color: #d7e9eb; clear: none; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 20px; margin: 0.5em 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>Why raw milk is dangerous</i></h2><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b><i>Raw milk can carry harmful bacteria and other germs that can make you very sick or kill you. Yes, it’s true that it’s possible to get “food poisoning” or foodborne illnesses from many foods, but raw milk is one of the riskiest of all. Raw milk and products made from raw milk (such as cheeses and yogurts) can cause serious infections, such as&nbsp;<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Salmonella</span>,&nbsp;<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Listeria</span>, and&nbsp;<span style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">E. coli</span>.</i></b></div><h2 style="background-color: #d7e9eb; clear: none; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 20px; margin: 0.5em 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>What happens if you get sick from raw milk</i></h2><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b><i>Getting sick from raw milk can mean many days of diarrhea, stomach cramping, and vomiting. Less commonly, it can mean kidney failure, paralysis, chronic disorders, and even death. The seriousness of the illness is determined by many factors, such as the type of germ, the amount of contamination, and the person’s immune defenses.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b><i>Speaking of immune defenses… it’s important to remember that some people are at higher risk of getting sick from drinking raw milk. The risk is greater for certain age groups, such as infants, young children, and older adults. It’s also particularly risky for pregnant women (and their unborn babies) and those with weakened immune systems, such as people with cancer, an organ transplant, or HIV/AIDS.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b></b><br /></div><a name='more'></a><b>I'm sure I'll drop dead any day now. &nbsp;It's my opinion that people who live in the country and chore after animals build up immunity to things like e. coli, salmonella, and listeria. &nbsp;My children grew up consuming raw milk, butter, and ice cream made from raw milk. &nbsp;So did my parents and all my ancestors before them. &nbsp;In past years there was one serious illness you could get from raw milk, undulant fever, which in cattle is called Bangs Disease. &nbsp;That has been pretty much eradicated in this country. &nbsp;TB was also a concern in the past, but I never hear much about that these days.&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I don't sell milk because the government has cracked down so much on it that it's almost an illegal activity these days. &nbsp;We were buying milk at the store for the kid I babysit, but her mother, another country-raised lady, actually prefers that her daughter drink raw milk. &nbsp;</b><br /><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b>Before I milk Penny, I clean off her udder with a soapy rag. &nbsp;She seldom has any visible dirt on her udder, unlike Grace, whose nickname could be "Pigpen". &nbsp;Clean or dirty, I clean off the cow's udder and dry it. &nbsp;If any visible chunk of dirt or manure falls into the milk, I don't bring it to the house; the pig gets it.&nbsp;</b></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b>Now, as to how I get the cream off: &nbsp;When the milk comes from the cow, of course, the cream is all mixed up with the milk. &nbsp;But because cream weighs less than milk, it soon rises to the top.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5r4D-OwAW7I/VbO71Phq5PI/AAAAAAAAVoI/d84p8WTNpdE/s1600/cream%2Bline.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5r4D-OwAW7I/VbO71Phq5PI/AAAAAAAAVoI/d84p8WTNpdE/s640/cream%2Bline.JPG" width="478" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b>I put a mark at the cream line in case it didn't show up, but you can see it pretty well. &nbsp;The cream has a yellow color to it. &nbsp;Jerseys and Guernseys give yellower cream than Holsteins because they don't process the carotene from the grass they eat. &nbsp;If you butcher an animal of those breeds, their fat is yellowish, too. &nbsp;By the way, most purebred Jerseys I've had would put twice as much cream on the milk. &nbsp;I don't know if they are breeding that trait out of the breed, or if the small percentage of Holstein she has in her background cause the small amount. &nbsp;</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iS9ROA1sAnI/VbO9vaAtNlI/AAAAAAAAVoU/J8nSzpT7B8Q/s1600/ladle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iS9ROA1sAnI/VbO9vaAtNlI/AAAAAAAAVoU/J8nSzpT7B8Q/s320/ladle.jpg" width="232" /></b></a></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b>&nbsp; And a ladle like this is what I use to skim the cream off the top. &nbsp;I store the milk and cream in the refrigerator, as you would any dairy products. &nbsp;When I save enough cream to make butter, I pour it into a gallon jar, put on a tight lid, and shake the contents of the jar until the yellow flecks of butter sort of lump up together. &nbsp;Then I pour off the buttermilk (nothing at all similar to cultured buttermilk from the store), put the butter in a bowl, and keep washing it with cold water and working the hunk of butter until most of the milky color is gone from the water. &nbsp;If you leave buttermilk in the cream, it will spoil faster. &nbsp;The old-timers would let the cream sour before they churned it, but I prefer sweet-cream butter. </b></div><div style="background-color: #d7e9eb; color: #555555; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding: 0px;"><b>I hope this answers your questions. &nbsp;As you can see, my background turned blue after I copied and pasted that government article onto this entry. &nbsp;Isn't that just like the government? &nbsp;They will foul up almost anything they get their hands on!</b></div>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/meet-erin-as-i-answer-her-milking.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-8494455268834230804Fri, 24 Jul 2015 10:22:00 +00002015-07-24T05:22:42.650-05:00When things get old, they are labled "vintage"<b>When I strain the milk I bring to the house, I often wonder whether my metal milk strainer will outlast my need for it. &nbsp;In case you are wondering what a milk strainer is, I did an entry about straining milk&nbsp;<a href="http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2009/08/straining-milk.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. &nbsp;Click on the link and you will find out more than you ever wanted to know.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I know it's silly to be sentimental about something like a milk strainer, but I'm nuts that way: &nbsp;I've had that thing ever since my parents sold us our first milk cow in 1968. &nbsp;They threw in the strainer with the cow, and although I've had several periods of cow-less-ness (how's that for a word?) since that time, I can't bring myself to toss it. &nbsp;It's a good thing, since at this point I'm using it again. &nbsp;Lord only knows how old it is. &nbsp;I only found out yesterday that this type strainer was made to set atop the old milk cans, back when any small farmer could milk a couple of cows and sell the milk for cheese-making and the cream for butter-making. &nbsp;If you checked out the entry I linked above, you saw the pictures of the way I use it, which is exactly how my mom showed me. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jztFqBv7UMg/VbIM8rjU76I/AAAAAAAAVnk/3Q4oCuapYeo/s1600/strainer%2Bbroken.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jztFqBv7UMg/VbIM8rjU76I/AAAAAAAAVnk/3Q4oCuapYeo/s640/strainer%2Bbroken.JPG" width="478" /></a></div><b>One part of my milk strainer is broken, and I handle it gently in hopes it will last me as long as I need it.</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><b>It's like that about a third of the way around that disk. &nbsp;This is the part that goes on top of the paper filter, to hold it in place. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I Googled "milk strainer" last night and found that they can still be purchased, although the new ones are not made exactly like this one. &nbsp;Most of them are stainless steel, smaller, and come at a high price. &nbsp;I don't plan to buy one, but I was curious. &nbsp;You know, just in case the day comes when that metal thing falls apart. &nbsp;I wouldn't invest a lot in something to strain milk because, at my age, even if I live another twenty years (God help my knees if that happens), I know I am liable to stop milking cows at any time, either out of necessity or out of weariness.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I made an interesting little side trip in my Internet travels yesterday; I stopped by Ebay, and found out the old milk strainers are labeled "vintage" and are used to make things like lamp shades. &nbsp;Really? &nbsp;I have to say, that made me smile when I first read it. &nbsp;I've seen some ugly lamp shades in my time, but I think a metal milk strainer would out-ugly all of them. &nbsp;I found one strainer almost exactly like mine with a buy-it-now price of $42, except the part I need even has a fancy little knob to hold onto when you place it down in the strainer!</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IHuARNs3XJg/VbIPKxESh3I/AAAAAAAAVns/DUSUm9r9_04/s1600/ebay.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IHuARNs3XJg/VbIPKxESh3I/AAAAAAAAVns/DUSUm9r9_04/s640/ebay.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><b>I don't suppose I could get them to sell me that part and keep the rest of the strainer for a lamp shade (yes, I am still smiling at the thought of a lamp shade).</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I think if I am VERY careful, I can make that poor old piece of metal in my vintage item last me as long as I need it. &nbsp;Here's hoping.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/when-things-get-old-they-are-labled.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-8237465726516495930Thu, 23 Jul 2015 10:41:00 +00002015-07-23T05:41:02.174-05:00Cookies and butter and other good things<b>If a recipe calls for butter, I try to use the real thing. &nbsp;Don't get me wrong, if you use the right kind of margarine (oleo, as we called it when I was growing up), you can't tell a huge difference. &nbsp;Using "the right kind" is the secret. &nbsp;</b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I've heard so many women say, "I can't make good cookies." &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I used to wonder how this could be. &nbsp;If everybody follows a recipe, it ought to turn out the same for all of them, right? &nbsp;But in talking to people, I've found out that not everybody knows there's a difference in margarines. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I learned the basics of cooking from the old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. &nbsp;For the most part, my mind was a blank slate when it came to learning to cook, because although my mom was a great cook, I paid very little attention to her efforts until they showed up on the table, ready to eat. &nbsp;When I moved into my first apartment at the age of eighteen after my dad's work relocated, I bought the cookbook that was to teach me many of the basics, one I still use. &nbsp;I've also bought every updated version since then. &nbsp;But I digress. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kCscmU14kp0/VbC8nfeYBCI/AAAAAAAAVm8/kQ4oK8d-mSA/s1600/margarine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kCscmU14kp0/VbC8nfeYBCI/AAAAAAAAVm8/kQ4oK8d-mSA/s640/margarine.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><div><b>There you have it. &nbsp;If the recipe calls for "butter or margarine", use the proper kind of margarine. &nbsp;Most people won't know you used a butter substitute. &nbsp; &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Because I can afford butter, that's what I use. &nbsp;There is a difference when you use the real thing, but it's subtle. &nbsp;Butter costs around $4 a pound these days, but if you buy it at Sam's Club or Costco, four pounds at once, it's around $2.50 a pound, I think. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Cliff and I will go to our tractor club meeting tonight. &nbsp;Several of the women take cookies, cakes, and various types of snacks for after the meeting. &nbsp;Sometimes there is such an abundance of goodies that most of it gets carried back home; other times, it's a meager feast. &nbsp;We often take cheese, summer sausage, and crackers, which is quite popular until a couple of other people bring the same thing; then we bring a lot of ours back home. &nbsp;I don't always take anything, but I don't want to seem like a moocher, so sometimes I chip in.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>The other day when we went shopping, I needed butter, but we didn't need enough items to go to Costco. &nbsp;So I reluctantly paid almost four bucks for one pound of butter at Walmart. &nbsp;Cliff reminded me about the meeting coming up, and I told him that since the peanut butter cookies I made the other day made such a big hit around here, I was going to make a double batch to take to the meeting.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>But the recipe calls for butter. &nbsp;I hate to use that expensive stuff making cookies, but it's what I have.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Of course, I do have a couple of dairy cows. &nbsp;Grace gives 2% milk, I always say. &nbsp;She doesn't give a lot of cream, and what she does give isn't rich and thick, the way I like it. &nbsp;So I let some calves take her milk twice a day, and when I want milk and cream, I milk Penny: &nbsp;She only gives about half the amount of cream most purebred Jerseys would (she's part Holstein), but at least the quality is good, and it's enough for my coffee. &nbsp;I usually milk two of her quarters out once a day, in the morning; in the evening I let calves have it all. &nbsp;I bring in a little over a gallon of milk each morning, skim off the cream twenty-four hours later, and give most of the skim milk to the pig. &nbsp;Boy, does that pig come running when he sees me pouring milk into his trough! &nbsp;</b></div><div><b>Back to the butter: &nbsp;I asked myself if I really wanted to milk Penny twice a day for two or three days to get a decent amount of cream to make butter and decided it would be worth it. &nbsp;A pound of butter free! &nbsp;So yesterday I churned, which simply means I put about seven cups of cream in a gallon jar and shook it for thirty minutes. &nbsp;Then I drained off the buttermilk (happy pig), washed the butter with cold water, and VIOLA! &nbsp;I had a pound of butter.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Today the toddler and I will make a double batch of peanut butter cookies. &nbsp;That is, if I can get Cliff out of the house long enough to stop playing with her. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV5b8rtYK08/VbDDPt3eTVI/AAAAAAAAVnM/cqT1F_DHx1w/s1600/Cliff%2Band%2Bcora.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV5b8rtYK08/VbDDPt3eTVI/AAAAAAAAVnM/cqT1F_DHx1w/s640/Cliff%2Band%2Bcora.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><div><b>We sure do enjoy that little girl.</b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/cookies-and-butter-and-other-good-things.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-8382381242412704808Mon, 20 Jul 2015 11:00:00 +00002015-07-20T07:05:11.282-05:00People are the motivating factor<b>When I started going to the small church I currently attend, by my third Sunday there someone said, "Don't you sing?" or "Didn't you used to sing?" and from then on, I kept getting requests to get up and sing. &nbsp;I wasn't comfortable with doing that, because it had been years since I had sung and played my guitar in front of a group of people (and I'm a lousy guitar-strummer and a mediocre singer). &nbsp;This wasn't that artificial "Ah, shucks, folks, I can't sing" sort of thing you so often see from someone who is really dying to perform (we've all seen that, haven't we? &nbsp;And you KNOW that person is DYING to have an audience). &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I seriously didn't want to do it. &nbsp;But I finally acquiesced. &nbsp;After half-a-dozen times or so, I became comfortable with the whole thing; after all, it's a small group of people I sort of know, people who laugh at their own little mess-ups. &nbsp;And I soon became very thankful that I had a chance to share some songs I wrote in the 70's and 80's that otherwise would have gone with me to the grave; truthfully, I had forgotten how really good some of those songs were! &nbsp;These folks began to call me "songwriter", and sometimes I would protest that I used to be a songwriter, but I don't write songs any more. &nbsp;My protests fell on deaf ears for a long time, but finally, yesterday, a lady asked the question: &nbsp;"Somebody said you don't write songs any more... is that right?" &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"Yes," I said, "that's right." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"Why not?" &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Well, that stumped me at the time. &nbsp;"I don't know, the songs just don't come to me any more," I said. &nbsp;And then threw in, "Of all the things I've lost in life, I think I miss my enthusiasm the most." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Which, I think, had very little to do with why I've lost the inspiration to write songs any more. &nbsp;By the time Cliff and I got home from Church, I figured out the answer to the question, and it's a simple one.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I stopped writing songs when there was no longer anybody to listen. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Back when I was writing songs at a pretty good pace, I always had some group of people I could go to and say, "Hey, I have a new song. &nbsp;Would you like to hear it?" &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>People would call me occasionally and ask me to write a poem or song for some special occasion, and like magic, I would come up with something that wasn't too bad. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When that stopped, when there was nobody to sing a new song for or share a new poem with, the motivation was gone. &nbsp;If you don't use it you lose it, and I no longer had any inspiration. &nbsp;Still don't, really, even though I now have a small group of people who would listen. &nbsp;But it's gone. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Just now the thought occurred to me, how many people have I failed to encourage or applaud, people who might have gone on to do great things with some talent of their own, if only I had done my part in motivating them and their talents? &nbsp;Maybe all they needed was someone to listen. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Kris Kristofferson once talked about writing songs for people who don't listen, but he obviously had more self-motivation than I.</b><br /><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">If you waste your time a-talking to the people who don't listen</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">To the things that you are saying, who do you think's going to hear</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">And if you should die explaining how the things that they complain about</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">Are things they could be changing who do you think's going to care?</span><br /><br style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;" /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">[</span><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">Who were crucified for what they tried to show</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time</span><br /><span style="background-color: #141414; color: #cccccc; font-family: Whitney, sans-serif; font-size: 17.1000003814697px; line-height: 28.2150001525879px;">Because the truth remains that no-one wants to know</span>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/people-are-motivating-factor.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-7843557549971363853Thu, 16 Jul 2015 13:40:00 +00002015-07-16T09:01:56.218-05:00My current cattle plans<b>I do plan to sell Penny this summer, but not yet. &nbsp;She is supplying milk for three calves and one pig: &nbsp;free food for them all! &nbsp;I intend to keep her around so those calves, and the pig, will keep on growing and doing well. &nbsp;I could feasibly wean the calves any time now, but in order for them to do well, I'd have to buy grain until they are at least five months old. &nbsp;They get some grain now, but not a lot, because of the milk they're getting. &nbsp;The pig doesn't require milk at all; I could buy a complete ration for him at the elevator. &nbsp;But that isn't free, and the milk is. &nbsp;By the way, he LOVES his milk.</b><br /><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>I'm thinking I will put Penny up for sale sometime in September. &nbsp;I advertised her before she calved last spring, but I deliberately overpriced her. &nbsp;When I put her on Craigslist this fall, the price will be reasonable. &nbsp;I will probably price her at $1,200 and possibly take less if I must. &nbsp;If nobody buys her at that point, she will have to go to the sale barn, which would be a real shame for such a good cow. &nbsp;Dairy cows mostly sell for slaughter at the sale barn. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VBV6bivRefI/VaevTbpw67I/AAAAAAAAVmg/oRr3ItOTHVU/s1600/jersey%2Bcows.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="556" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VBV6bivRefI/VaevTbpw67I/AAAAAAAAVmg/oRr3ItOTHVU/s640/jersey%2Bcows.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><div><b>&nbsp;As you can see, at the present time, dairy cows are in plentiful supply on Craigslist, and there isn't all that much demand for a cow you have to milk twice a day. &nbsp;However, none of those listed are in this area. &nbsp;I guess they advertise on Kansas City Craigslist because they can't sell the cows in their own area. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>The whole reason for this plan is that I would like to go someplace overnight at times, and I can't as long as there is a cow around that has to be milked. &nbsp;Grace, my other cow, is a superb nurse cow, and accepts as many calves as I can put on her. &nbsp;This means the calves can take care of the milking. &nbsp;If we want to leave, we shut her in a lot with whatever calves are getting their nourishment from her, make sure she is fed and watered (Grandson will be here to make sure of that), and we're good.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>There is one slightly tricky detail for this fall. &nbsp;You knew there would be a catch, didn't you? &nbsp;In early November our tractor club is taking a two-day trip, and I intend to go. &nbsp;Grace is due to calve in late October. &nbsp;If she ends up going much over her due date, we could be gone when she calves... last time we tried that, a calf died because it was too big for a heifer to birth easily. &nbsp;However!!! &nbsp;Grace isn't a heifer, she's already had a calf successfully. &nbsp;AND she is bred to the runt Jersey bull we took to the butcher shop this week, so the calf should be small. &nbsp;Another catch is this: &nbsp;If she calves early or on time, she will be giving too much milk for one calf and I will have to hope and pray I can secure a couple of Holsteins from the dairy at Higginsville at that time and get them all, the mother and calves, comfortable with one another before the trip. &nbsp;All these things look perfectly logical on paper, but old Murphy, with &nbsp;his stupid law, is always right around the corner waiting to spring into action. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Worst-case scenario? &nbsp;We skip the trip and lose the $300 we paid for it. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>It's only a one-night, two-day trip. &nbsp;Please say a prayer for us and/or send good vibes our way, and don't forget to keep Penny in mind as you do so. &nbsp;I really don't want to send her to slaughter; she is gentle (doesn't move a muscle when I'm milking), young, and bred to a Jersey bull. &nbsp;</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>But I will, if that's what it takes.</b></div>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/my-current-cattle-plans.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-1511705508677942161Tue, 14 Jul 2015 10:15:00 +00002015-07-14T06:35:08.301-05:00Biscuits<b>My mother, although a great cook herself, never actually taught me to cook. &nbsp;I think she loved to cook so much that perhaps it was just easier and more enjoyable to do it herself rather than bother with me. &nbsp;On the other hand, I don't think I really cared to learn. &nbsp;Oh, Mother would buy the occasional <a href="https://youtu.be/ZeLBSuzUIAU" target="_blank">Chef Boyardee Spaghetti kit</a> that I might make for supper for the two of us when she got home from work (Daddy worked nights), but that's about the extent of it. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>In the seventh grade I took my one and only course of Home Economics. &nbsp;The only thing I actually got out of the class was how to make baking powder biscuits, which nobody in my north Missouri clan, on either side of the family, ever made, to my knowledge. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>It was probably a couple of years later that my parents and I went home for dinner with a couple from church; the lady, named Goldie, made biscuits with some sort of subtle difference in them: &nbsp;They tasted better than mine, but I didn't know why. &nbsp;When we went home I mentioned it to my mom, who said she hadn't seen the lady do anything out of the ordinary to those biscuits. &nbsp;Remember, though, that as far as I know my mother never made baking powder biscuits in her life.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>In 1962 I got an apartment and was on my own. &nbsp;I bought a Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook and learned to make cookies and cakes and breads. &nbsp;Once in awhile I'd make baking powder biscuits, and did a pretty good job of it. &nbsp;Of course, when you live alone, you aren't in need of a lot of biscuits. &nbsp;There were a couple of other times, though, that I tasted biscuits with that subtle difference, that "something better", and each time the cook was from the south, anywhere from southern Missouri to the deep south. &nbsp;What did they do, I wondered, to make something so simple that much better?</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>In 1966 I got married. &nbsp;Now I lived with a man who appreciated biscuits, light rolls, cake... any sort of thing that came out of the oven! &nbsp;Later on, both my children were bread-lovers too. &nbsp;I discovered Bisquick, which makes some dang good biscuits, not to mention pancakes, and for years I actually forgot that somewhere in the south, there were cooks who had found biscuit nirvana. &nbsp;&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>In the past several years, having plenty of idle time and access to the Internet, I remembered that, even though everybody loved my biscuits-and-gravy, somewhere there were better biscuits to be made. &nbsp;I Googled and pored over recipes: &nbsp;The chief difference in the ingredients found in southern recipes seemed to be the use of buttermilk and self-rising flour. &nbsp;After some experimentation, I decided that Gold Medal or Pillsbury self-rising flour made slightly better biscuits than the store brands.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>My biscuits still didn't have that pure southern magic, but using the recipe on the bag of self-rising flour, they were getting closer.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Recently I tried a different recipe that used no shortening; it was from an Arkansas cook whose recipes I've used several times, so I tried them. &nbsp;Cliff and I, however, agreed that we liked mine better. &nbsp;There were two things in that recipe, though, that I decided to add to my own: &nbsp;She added 1/4 a teaspoon of baking soda to the flour (something that's already included in self-rising flour) and brushed the tops of the biscuits with melted bacon grease, butter, or shortening. &nbsp;Next time I made biscuits I added these steps. &nbsp;Cliff couldn't tell any difference, but I was pretty sure I could. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Last week I made biscuits using my new knowledge. &nbsp;Cora was here and distracted me while they were in the oven, so I went to attend to her needs. &nbsp;On returning to the kitchen I exclaimed, "Oh, my biscuits! &nbsp;I'll bet they're burnt!" &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>But they weren't. &nbsp;They were darker than usual, but those biscuits were the best I had ever made, and they tasted exactly like those I'd had at Melvin and Goldie's, back when I was fifteen or so. &nbsp;I repeated the same steps this week, and once again, we had perfect southern biscuits, ones that are almost as good cold, left-over, as they are fresh out of the oven.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I've reached biscuit nirvana! &nbsp;But now, of course, I'm craving biscuits. &nbsp;And Cliff and I really shouldn't be eating biscuits all the time. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>By the way, I can still make plain old baking powder biscuits in a pinch, and I'm probably the only one (except maybe Cliff) who notices the difference. &nbsp;Yes, the difference is <i>that</i> subtle.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/biscuits.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-2743141053789150303Sun, 12 Jul 2015 23:57:00 +00002015-07-12T18:57:08.845-05:00"This is my Father's World"<b>So many of my readers mentioned here, and on Facebook, that they had never heard this song. &nbsp;I chose to use a video from Vimeo because one of my very favorite readers doesn't like the whole Google thing, and Youtube is a part of Google. &nbsp;However, the only thing I can do is share the link. &nbsp;There's no way of embedding a video from Vimeo that I can see. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Click <a href="https://vimeo.com/120306728" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/this-is-my-fathers-world.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-2713054743569108817Sun, 12 Jul 2015 19:25:00 +00002015-07-12T14:25:14.721-05:00Other factors enter in<b>Regarding that last entry, it isn't just politics that has me in this slump; there are several factors. &nbsp;For instance, this record rainfall we've had this year. &nbsp;It's no use to complain about the weather, but I have to admit it's been getting on my nerves.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Everyone who has watched me blog about my gardening efforts for several years knows that in my garden, tomatoes are the priority. &nbsp;Everything else can fail, and if I have tomatoes I will be happy. &nbsp;I only ask for enough tomatoes to eat fresh, although in most years I have lots left over to can. &nbsp;This year, I will be very surprised if I get enough for a BLT. &nbsp;The plants are all blighty, and the green tomatoes, while plentiful, have spots all over them. &nbsp;Some of them are rotting on the vine when they are no bigger than a walnut. &nbsp;Someone asked if I had any green tomatoes to spare recently and I had to tell her no; there aren't any green tomatoes out there big enough to use for anything.&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Potatoes and corn have done well. &nbsp;The only problem with the sweet corn has been the earworms, and they should be less with subsequent plantings, since I've been dusting the silks with Sevin. &nbsp;I'd trade all the corn for a few tomatoes, though.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I can afford to buy tomatoes, but I've yet to find anyone selling home-grown tomatoes that actually taste home-grown. &nbsp;The local peach orchard guy is in our tractor club, so I guess I should go down there and harass him, just to see if his tomatoes are decent. &nbsp;In fact, I think I'll go see what Cliff is doing as soon as I finish this entry.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I long ago stopped expecting any zucchini, since the squash bugs kill my efforts before I can harvest more than a couple of zucchinis. &nbsp;I hear legends all the time of people who give away so much zucchini that people run from them when they approach. &nbsp;Alas, nobody has ever offered to share their produce with me. &nbsp;Every year I plant a few seeds, every year the bugs have a feast. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Here's another thing, and it's my own doing: &nbsp;I have painted myself into a corner with the cows. &nbsp;The timing of their freshenings and pregnancies has made it impossible for me to leave home for over twelve hours at a time. &nbsp;I am considering perhaps selling one, but I need the wisdom of Solomon to help me decide on which one! &nbsp;I love them both, you see. &nbsp;Grace is a wonderful nurse cow, so she is very handy to have around for raising calves. &nbsp;I don't even have to milk her, as long as there are calves to take her milk. &nbsp;She is the one, by rights, that I should keep, because that would allow me some freedom.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I force Penny to accept calves, but she has hated the idea from the first; although if she ever has her own calf that survives, that might change. &nbsp;She is the one that gives the good milk and rich cream and she is gentle and easy to hand-milk. &nbsp;However, she is timid, and I'm pretty sure I would never get her to accept anybody else's presence in the barn lot, even if I found someone who was able to do chores when I'm gone. &nbsp;All the time I'm outside choring after the cows, I struggle over this problem, but even as I type these words I know that Penny is the one that needs to go. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>The thing is, I am past seventy, and if there is someplace I want to go, I need to be able to do it. &nbsp;We can't do a huge amount of traveling because Cliff has a hip that bothers him if he does a lot of driving, but if we could only go to Arkansas for a night, it would be nice. &nbsp;We might be able to make it to Colorado one more time, who knows? &nbsp;I can always get another cow in the future. &nbsp;In fact, I have a five-month-old Jersey/Holstein heifer right here, waiting in the wings.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>All this mental turmoil that I've caused for myself adds to my cloudy mood.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>If I ever make a decision, I will be letting my readers know.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>By the way, life is good. &nbsp;I won't be doing any more of these "woe-is-me" entries. &nbsp;When I look around and see people with real problems, I realize how blessed I am. &nbsp;If I so desire, I can sell every cow and calf on the place; there is nothing and nobody to keep me from doing that! &nbsp;I need to wake up and smell the roses; I do believe the very act of creating this entry has helped me with a decision.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I still want a good tomato, though. &nbsp;</b><br /><br /><br /><br />&nbsp;http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/other-factors-enter-in.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-3347333669227541731Sun, 12 Jul 2015 11:55:00 +00002015-07-12T08:46:30.270-05:00I have the blogging blahs<b>Ennui has overtaken me. &nbsp;Don't you love that word, "ennui"? &nbsp;It was a vocabulary word I learned in my senior year at good old North Kansas City High School. &nbsp;Because our school mascot was Henry Hornet, our vocabulary words were called Henry Hornet words. &nbsp;Childish, I know. &nbsp;I was a senior, for pete's sake! &nbsp;Anyway. &nbsp;When I learned that word I seized it as mine, because it described my day-to-day life: &nbsp;A feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest. &nbsp;Come on, hasn't every teenager felt that way during certain periods of her life?</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Or, in the words of Ecclesiastes, "Vanity of vanities. &nbsp;All is vanity."</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>To a person of my age... by the way, I had a birthday July 7th... the changes in the world are difficult to take in, and while I often try to insulate myself here on my own little piece of land, sometimes the magnitude of it all overtakes me. &nbsp;A baseball team changing its name because it's offensive? &nbsp;A piece of cloth suddenly being banned from everyplace in the country because it represents bigotry? &nbsp;It's a piece of cloth, people! &nbsp;I'm not saying all this is wrong, I'm simply saying I don't understand it.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I just want to be five years old again and go back to Skinner School, where we said the Pledge of Allegiance every morning (without "under God" because they hadn't added that yet). &nbsp;Sometimes the teacher, Mrs. Eighmy, would sit at the piano and we would sing songs. &nbsp;Other times she would play records and we would sing along with those. &nbsp;Lately I've been remembering a sort of hymn I learned in that one-room country school that resonated with me the first time I heard it, a song I had not heard at the Hepburn Church of Christ, but one that sank right down into my bones and became a part of me.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><center style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: blue;"><h1>This Is My Father's World</h1><i><b>The United Methodist Hymnal Number 144<br />Text:&nbsp;Maltbie D. Babcock<br />Music:&nbsp;Trad. English melody; adapt. by Franklin L. Sheppard<br />Tune:&nbsp;TERRA BEATA,&nbsp;Meter:&nbsp;SMD</b></i><hr /></center><center style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: blue;"><table border="0"><tbody><tr><td align="left"><b><i>1. This is my Father's world,<br />and to my listening ears<br />all nature sings, and round me rings<br />the music of the spheres.<br />This is my Father's world:<br />I rest me in the thought<br />of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;<br />his hand the wonders wrought.<br /><br />2. This is my Father's world,<br />the birds their carols raise,<br />the morning light, the lily white,<br />declare their maker's praise.<br />This is my Father's world:<br />he shines in all that's fair;<br />in the rustling grass I hear him pass;<br />he speaks to me everywhere.<br /><br />3. This is my Father's world.<br />O let me ne'er forget<br />that though the wrong seems oft so strong,<br />God is the ruler yet.<br />This is my Father's world:<br />why should my heart be sad?<br />The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!<br />God reigns; let the earth be glad!&nbsp;</i></b></td></tr></tbody></table></center><b><br /></b><b><br /></b><b>This was a song with which I could identify! &nbsp;You start talking about skies and trees and birds and rocks and rustling grass, and you are talking about the world of my childhood. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Anyway. &nbsp;I am checking in, and maybe this will get me jump-started. &nbsp;Or not. &nbsp;Meanwhile, you will find my heart at Skinner School in Taylor County, Iowa. &nbsp;Things seem so much simpler there. &nbsp;I'll be sitting in the next desk from the back, learning what there was to learn in 1950.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZnjPfHM7cBc/S3Mc6lmqjRI/AAAAAAAAH5s/XcE_8lslBF0/s1600/skinner1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZnjPfHM7cBc/S3Mc6lmqjRI/AAAAAAAAH5s/XcE_8lslBF0/s1600/skinner1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/07/i-have-blogging-blahs.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-7175787161840387722Mon, 29 Jun 2015 02:39:00 +00002015-06-28T22:03:24.292-05:00Animals amaze me<b>This morning I hadn't even finished my first cup of coffee when I heard, faintly, a hen cackling. &nbsp;Now, it's never a good thing when you hear a chicken cackling before daylight. &nbsp;Especially since we've had so many problems with varmints lately. &nbsp;The hen and chicks have their own little house, and I secure them every night, shutting the door. &nbsp;However, I have gotten lax lately, not wiring the door securely at the top. &nbsp;This was the day to pay the piper. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I went running out to the little chicken house and saw Mama Hen frantically running around the pen cackling, with her chicks peeping around her like crazy. &nbsp;There were feathers scattered around the pen, and one dead, headless chick.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BcAGGh6aWA4/VZCsGPcPICI/AAAAAAAAVlw/8ANVJZzy2G4/s1600/headless.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BcAGGh6aWA4/VZCsGPcPICI/AAAAAAAAVlw/8ANVJZzy2G4/s640/headless.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>At first only six chicks came out with Mama Hen, and I thought that was what I had left. &nbsp;Later I got to thinking that if there were only six chicks left, there would have been three corpses, not just one. &nbsp;So I went back to the little house and peeked into the corners and found two more live chicks, petrified with fear, and shooed them out.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I went on to do the cattle chores, and Mama Hen was still in the driveway cackling when I was done. &nbsp;She was obviously traumatized, and was still cackling for over an hour after it all happened. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Finally she acknowledged her babies and foraged around in the yard and garden all day. &nbsp;Cliff and I had plans to lock the hen and chicks into her little house/pen securely tonight, and then put our varmint trap right in front of that house, baited with the headless chick that was killed last night. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When we went out at dusk, I heard the chicks peeping loudly and the mom clucking, but they weren't in their little house. &nbsp;The noises were coming from the big hen house. &nbsp;Mama Hen was sitting on a nest in there, as it turns out, and the babies were trying, one by one, to fly up and join her. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I was amazed. &nbsp;I was speechless, and honestly, almost had tears in my eyes. &nbsp;Chickens are among the dumbest animals God ever created, but that mommy thing is stronger than any weak mind, and the hen had no intention of letting her babies be killed. &nbsp;She had moved out of that death-trap of a house.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I shut the chicken house door, knowing no chickens would die tonight. &nbsp;We did put the trap in front of the now-uninhabited brooder house. &nbsp;I doubt we catch anything. &nbsp;But Mama Hen has it under control, and no chickens will die tonight.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3rY_On-QKbg/VZCuckkx2CI/AAAAAAAAVl8/Zl-snYrESXc/s1600/hen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3rY_On-QKbg/VZCuckkx2CI/AAAAAAAAVl8/Zl-snYrESXc/s640/hen.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>There are still eight chicks left, and they know Mommy isn't going to desert them.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>God bless mothers everywhere.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Psalm 91:4 &nbsp;</b><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">He will cover you with his feathers,</span><br /><div class="line2" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 25px 0px 50px; text-align: justify;">and under his wings you will find refuge;</div><div class="line2" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 25px 0px 50px; text-align: justify;">his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.</div><div class="line1" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 25px; text-align: justify;"><span class="reftext" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin-left: 1px; margin-right: 2px; vertical-align: text-top;"><a href="http://biblehub.com/psalms/91-5.htm" style="color: #0092f2; text-decoration: none;"><b>5</b></a></span>You will not fear the terror of night,</div><div class="line2" style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; font-family: Trebuchet, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; padding: 0px 25px 0px 50px; text-align: justify;">nor the arrow that flies by day</div>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/animals-amaze-me.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-4638570411970360008Sun, 28 Jun 2015 13:29:00 +00002015-06-28T08:29:16.832-05:00Not all news is good around the farm<b>I recently blogged about Blackie, a calf belonging to Cliff's brother that I was trying to save. &nbsp;I had theories about what was ailing him, but was on uncharted territory. &nbsp;I honestly didn't expect him to live, but he was such a fighter, and developed such a good appetite, that I just couldn't give up on him. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Yesterday when I got him up to give him a bottle, I noticed a swelling about the size of an orange at his naval. &nbsp;I felt it, and it was as hard as a rock. &nbsp;While I've never had experience with naval ill, I had a feeling that's what we were dealing with, so I consulted Dr. Google. &nbsp;What I found explained everything that had happened with that calf: &nbsp;Turns out naval ill, if not treated, turns into joint ill. &nbsp;The disease settles in the joints, causing pain and difficulty walking. &nbsp;You can read about it <a href="http://www.thecattlesite.com/diseaseinfo/216/joint-ill-navel-ill/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. &nbsp;It can also go to the eyes, liver, heart, and other organs. &nbsp;I was briefly worried when I read it could be contagious, since we had Blackie in with three of my calves for several days. &nbsp;Further reading told me that it's only contagious to calves in their first week of life.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Had I paid attention to the calf's naval when Phil first brought him over, he could have been saved. &nbsp;Cliff and I had noticed his naval looked damp all the time, but we assumed it was because he was laying on damp ground all the time. &nbsp;Rule number one when dealing with livestock or children: &nbsp;Never assume.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>If you go to the link I shared above, you will see that once naval ill has turned into joint ill, unless you have a very valuable animal and can afford to spend lots of money for an offhand chance you might save the calf, it's time to cut your losses. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>That's what we did. &nbsp;Cliff called his brother to tell him what was happening, and then he humanely put Blackie down.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/not-all-news-is-good-around-farm.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-2488904339105821982Sun, 28 Jun 2015 11:25:00 +00002015-06-28T08:35:18.739-05:00Stanley the pig<b>I have been wanting a pig on the place ever since I found myself with two milk cows. &nbsp;Even though the calves do the milking for me most of the time, I milk a couple of times a week to get milk for our own use. &nbsp;I like the cream in my coffee and on our oatmeal, but we don't use all that much milk. &nbsp;It doesn't take much for our morning cereal and what little baking I do, and it breaks my heart to pour perfectly good milk down the drain, knowing how much a pig would love it.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I had been watching Craigslist for weeks, hoping to buy a pig at a reasonable price. &nbsp;Cliff was less than enthused about this, since he is the guy that has to figure out how to make pens out of what we have on hand, provide housing, and actually transport the animal to our place. &nbsp;To his relief, I wasn't finding any pigs close to home, and I didn't want to spend a lot of gas money running up and down the roads for&nbsp;small pig. &nbsp;That "one small" part was another point of disagreement: &nbsp;Cliff felt that if we <i>were</i>&nbsp;going to get a pig, we ought to get two of them. &nbsp;Two pigs just do better, he says, than one by itself. &nbsp;I only wanted one because the amount of extra milk I would have wouldn't go far with more; it will make a big difference in the diet of one pig, especially while he's small. &nbsp;I didn't want to be buying any more expensive pig feed than necessary. &nbsp;Oh, and if you only have one pig, he makes a better pet.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"Oh yeah, <i>that's</i>&nbsp;what we need," my husband grumbled. &nbsp;"A pet pig."</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>As a butcher, Cliff learned that there's nothing more aggravating than a pet pig: &nbsp;They aren't scared, so you can't make them go anywhere; they're impossible to load when it's time to take them to slaughter.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When he finally decided I wasn't going to shut up about a pig, he suggested that we stop looking at Craigslist ads and go buy a pig from the local farmer we've purchased from before. &nbsp;"We might have to pay more," he said, "but we won't be running up and down the road spending more on gas that we would have to spend on a pig." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>He had a point. &nbsp;Besides, we know the local guy has good, healthy pigs. &nbsp;Score one for Cliff. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I called, and the guy, as always, had pigs available. &nbsp;I explained to him that I had extra milk, and wanted a pig around to make good use of it. &nbsp;"The smaller the pig, the better," I said. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>A dollar a pound can make for an expensive porker, but not so much when you are buying an eighteen-pound baby. &nbsp;We loaded up a dog carrier in the back of the pickup and went to get our pig. We chose a male.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UFfv4-ROLRw/VY_KxLrBERI/AAAAAAAAVk0/cg8ev0qTMus/s1600/pig1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UFfv4-ROLRw/VY_KxLrBERI/AAAAAAAAVk0/cg8ev0qTMus/s640/pig1.JPG" width="478" /></b></a></div><b><br /></b><b>"Oh, isn't he pretty?" &nbsp;I said to Cliff as the farmer carried our baby out of the barn. &nbsp;I think I saw the guy try to hide a smile. &nbsp;Maybe he isn't used to having his pigs called "pretty".</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I told the grandson's soon-to-be wife to pick a name for him, and she chose "Stanley".</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Temperatures were in the 90's when we brought him home. &nbsp;Instead of staying in the shade of his house (a calf hutch), he insisted in stretching out in the sun. &nbsp;Did you know pigs can sunburn? &nbsp;Since nothing I could do would get him to the shade, I put sunblock on him.</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BlpES8HyX_0/VY_T2Xqw5vI/AAAAAAAAVlE/LgG5-iHivn4/s1600/pig3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BlpES8HyX_0/VY_T2Xqw5vI/AAAAAAAAVlE/LgG5-iHivn4/s640/pig3.JPG" width="478" /></b></a></div><b><br /></b><b>And you know, pigs don't take the heat very well. &nbsp;They really like a mud wallow, but since he had none, I bought him a cheap wading pool like the one we have for the little girl I babysit. &nbsp;</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-raRTFR590QA/VY_U3a58ItI/AAAAAAAAVlM/jnYUDiu1adY/s1600/pig2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-raRTFR590QA/VY_U3a58ItI/AAAAAAAAVlM/jnYUDiu1adY/s640/pig2.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b><br /></b><b>Since then, Cliff has fashioned a shade over part of his pen using tarp and tie-down straps.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JeJRQ03fwKg/VY_WrOHObjI/AAAAAAAAVlY/scYIGDj0pvA/s1600/pig4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JeJRQ03fwKg/VY_WrOHObjI/AAAAAAAAVlY/scYIGDj0pvA/s640/pig4.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>And here he is at six this morning, eating his breakfast. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When you have one pig by himself, he becomes a pet very quickly. &nbsp;If I climb into Stanley's pen, he already comes over to me begging for a belly-scratch. &nbsp;He has started rooting, tearing up the turf in his pen, so we'll have to put a ring in his nose or he will root his way out of the pen and end up at the neighbors, working on their flowerbeds or something. &nbsp;We still have some pig-rings from 30 years ago, so no purchase will be required.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/stanley-pig.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-6582426546113168092Fri, 26 Jun 2015 12:20:00 +00002015-06-26T07:24:26.772-05:00This poor, pathetic calf<b>When Cliff's brother brought his abandoned baby calf to me, I was confident that all he needed was a vigilant eye and proper nourishment. &nbsp;I figured he would be ready to sell on Craigslist in two or three days. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>That was the plan. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Oh, I got a bottle of milk down him twice a day, but it was a real chore to get him to stand up at feeding time. &nbsp;He got a minor case of scours, I doctored it with the usual pills and electrolytes, and he was fine. &nbsp;But he never once bawled for his supper as new calves do at feeding time, and he had to be coaxed, and even helped, to get up. &nbsp;He was with three bigger calves who mostly ignored him, as he did them. &nbsp;He chose a corner in the sheltered area of their pen to spend his days, and there he lay. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Cliff and I finally figured out that the calf has a problem either with one hind leg, or perhaps with his hindquarters in general, which is why he doesn't like to get up and has difficulty walking. &nbsp;Phil told us that this calf followed his mother the first couple days of his life, so obviously something happened to him that injured him when he was a couple days old. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Just about the time I think I should have Cliff put the calf out of his misery, he will show a little more enthusiasm for the bottle or act as though he wants to follow me around the pen once his belly is full, and I think perhaps there is hope. &nbsp;Maybe my city friends are thinking I should call a vet, but a farm visit is $100, and the vet couldn't do anything for the poor boy except perhaps tell me what the problem is with his hindquarters. &nbsp;You just can't sink a lot of money into a baby calf, because you'll never get it back.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Last night we had another deluge. &nbsp;These days deluges are the norm, so we just shake our heads and go on. &nbsp;At tractor club last night the farmers were discussing the fact that they can't sell their wheat because all the rain has put something, some organism or other, in it that makes it pretty much worthless. &nbsp;They haven't been able to finish planting their soybeans, either. &nbsp;I don't know what the latest date is on planting soybeans, but we must be rapidly approaching it. &nbsp;But I digress. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I went outside to chore with some trepidation this morning, because there were fierce winds last night, along with five, count 'em, five inches of rain.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>First I checked on the baby pig we bought two days ago... more about him in another entry... because he seems to be the stupidist pig I've ever owned. &nbsp;Anyhow, stupid pig had gathered his wits about him enough to seek shelter in the calf hutch Cliff gave him for a house. &nbsp;I went to look at Phil's calf. &nbsp;I've never actually named him, but have taken to calling him Blackie. &nbsp;He was laid out totally on his side with the older three calves all laying around him. &nbsp;When I nudged his with the toe of my boot there was no response, but I saw him blink, and thought, "Why don't you just die and put us both out of our misery?"</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>You don't want to see a cow or calf laying stretched out on its side for very long: &nbsp;If the animal is old enough to ruminate (chew its cud), it will bloat if it lays there long. &nbsp;Blackie hasn't progressed to chewing his cud, though. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Yesterday I had gotten the thought that I was fighting a losing battle, but an old Gospel song came to mind. &nbsp;You atheists can turn your heads about now, because I'm going to tell you a secret: &nbsp;God usually speaks to me through the old hymns, and I often get a message that means something for what's happening at the particular time that it comes to me. &nbsp;So as I was deciding whether or not to stop "beating a dead horse" (or calf), the words that came to me were this: &nbsp;"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3jKLyEkzkY" target="_blank">It is no secret what God can do</a>." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>So I fed him yesterday morning and evening. &nbsp;He showed enough enthusiasm to actually wag his tail as he nursed last night, but that's the extent of it. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>After seeing him so nearly dead (I thought) this morning, I skipped his bottle. &nbsp;As I left the barn, though, I glanced over at him and saw him attempting to get himself upright. &nbsp;Well great. &nbsp;Here we go again. &nbsp;Now I'll have to fix him a bottle and try to get him up.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Going back to the barn with the bottle I had prepared, the song that came to me was "Whispering Hope". &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b><i>Soft as the voice of an angel,</i></b><br /><b><i>Breathing a lesson unheard;</i></b><br /><b><i>Hope, with a gentle persuasion</i></b><br /><b><i>Whispers a comforting word.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b><b><i>Wait till the darkness is over</i></b><br /><b><i>Wait till the tempest is done...</i></b><br /><b><i>Hope for the sunshine tomorrow</i></b><br /><b><i>After the darkness is gone.</i></b><br /><b><i><br /></i></b><i><b>Whispering hope</b></i><br /><i><b>Oh how welcome thy voice,</b></i><br /><i><b>Making my heart</b></i><br /><i><b>In its sorrow rejoice.</b></i><br /><i><b><br /></b></i><b>I got Blackie to his feet and gave him the bottle. &nbsp;He had <i>more</i> trouble than usual walking as I held the bottle in front of him, but he emptied the bottle. &nbsp;Obviously laying on his side so long hadn't been good for his hindquarters, and the three calves that had been laying all around him may have laid on his back legs... who knows. &nbsp;I wouldn't give you five dollars for that calf's chances to ever get well, but as long as he can stand up, and as long as some old hymn comes to mind when I'm tending him, I guess I'll keep on trying.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m45fZ4Y3Zzs/VY1BAnFojXI/AAAAAAAAVkU/lir1dzI4Src/s1600/phil%2527s%2Bcalf.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m45fZ4Y3Zzs/VY1BAnFojXI/AAAAAAAAVkU/lir1dzI4Src/s320/phil%2527s%2Bcalf.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/this-poor-pathetic-calf.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-8633778658046053974Tue, 23 Jun 2015 15:21:00 +00002015-06-23T10:21:56.319-05:00Sidelined, Part 2<b>If you haven't read part one of the story, feel free to read it <a href="http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/sidelined-at-tractor-show.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Just before Rocky decided it was time to move on, a lady sat down at my right on the bench I had claimed as my own. &nbsp;She listened to the latter portion of my conversation with Rocky, which was mostly about various Democratic candidates from the past, but also included a mention of Hillary. &nbsp;Rocky suddenly realized people were going in and out of the old depot that was creating our shade, and turns out his wife had asked him to keep watch over it and make sure no vandalism was done while she took a break from her station at the door. &nbsp;I'm sure at least two dozen folks had entered and left the place during our conversation, but he hadn't noticed them during the preceding forty-five minutes. </b><br /><b><br /></b><b>The lady, whose name I never asked, mentioned how nice it felt in the shade with the breeze and all, and of course I agreed. &nbsp;Then she said, "I'm just beginning to feel better again. &nbsp;I've been under the weather for the longest time. &nbsp;I have congestive heart failure." </b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"That's too bad," I said. &nbsp;"I know there isn't any cure for that; all you can do is treat it as best you can."</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>She went on to explain that she had really been feeling low, but was sent to a different cardiologist who felt she was on too many conflicting medications and had taken her off several of them, at which time her condition began to improve. &nbsp;I asked her the doctor's name, and it happened to be Cliff's cardiologist. &nbsp;Anyhow, he seemed to have done her a world of good, and she considers him a very good doctor.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Here we were having a chat in Lathrop, sixty miles from where I live, and I found out she lives in Odessa, just eight miles south of my home; she has a couple of nephews who will be at the Adrian tractor show next weekend. &nbsp;That's when she told me her last name, so I could watch for the guys at the show. &nbsp;It was an unusual name, and I really wish I had written it down. &nbsp;But I didn't.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Then we got on the subject of Medicare insurance. &nbsp;She asked what insurance I have, and I told her it's Humana this year, but we usually change every January, trying to keep our costs down.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Without sounding like a prophet of doom, she said she didn't care for Humana: &nbsp;"I'm a nurse," she said, "and I feel like they killed my mother." &nbsp;She proceeded to tell me a little about her mother's final days.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"They've done OK for us so far this year," I told her.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"Well, you're younger, and don't have anything major wrong with you." </b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Because of her soft-spoken, mild manner, something rang true in what she said, and I may indeed change insurance next year.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>We discussed gardens, and she said she really misses hers. &nbsp;I asked her if she knows about Harvesters, and she did. &nbsp;Her brother helps with the Harvester's distribution. &nbsp;"So much of the food they have is bad, though," she said. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>That's true. &nbsp;It's food that stores can't sell because it's past the expiration date, or vegetables and fruit that are past their prime. &nbsp;Still, a lot of the stuff is usable and good. &nbsp;I know this because Cliff's brother helps hand out the stuff at his church. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>So this was a totally different type of conversation than the one I had with Rocky, much more laid-back and with a lot more input from me. &nbsp;The reason I wish I had paid attention to her last name is that I would have been glad to take tomatoes and other excess garden stuff (if there is any) to share with her. &nbsp;She isn't far away, and Cliff and I are occasionally in Odessa. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>As it is, we were no more than ships passing in the night. &nbsp;But I like to think she may have been an angel, sent to tell me to get on another insurance plan or to assure me that Cliff's cardiologist is a decent doctor. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>&nbsp;.</b> <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EtdPLYml17E" width="560"></iframe><br /><br /><b>And who knows? &nbsp;Rocky may have been an angel too. &nbsp;Angels come in all shapes, sizes, and persuasions, and maybe I needed to be reminded that building Cliff's shop was one of our best decisions; otherwise Cliff would be in Rocky's shoes, wishing he had a shop but being afraid to go in debt to build it.&nbsp;</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/sidelined-part-2.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-5519688071957014542Sun, 21 Jun 2015 19:31:00 +00002015-06-21T15:05:33.273-05:00Sidelined at a tractor show<b>Yesterday Cliff and I went to a tractor show at Lathrop. &nbsp;Cliff opted not to take a tractor for the show. &nbsp;We left fairly early, since the forecast predicted a high in the mid-nineties. &nbsp;It doesn't take Cliff long to wander through all the flea markets and then look at the tractors, and we figured we'd get home by the hottest part of the day. </b><br /><b><br /></b><b>After we arrived and I was getting out of the car I realized I had forgotten a couple of important items: &nbsp;My <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Travelon-Walking-Seat-Cane-Size/dp/B001CZMXDE/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1434911928&amp;sr=8-6&amp;keywords=cane-chair" target="_blank">cane-chair</a> and my cell phone. &nbsp;My spirits sank with the realization that I would never be able to cover the grounds without the cane-chair, which gives me a place to sit no matter where I am. &nbsp;Obviously I'd be looking for benches to sit on while I looked at tractors with Cliff. &nbsp;Benches are in high demand at these shows, though, considering about 2/3 of the attendees are of retirement age. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Cliff and I split up to walk through the flea-market area. &nbsp;I found a couple of cheap items of interest there, visited with my neighbor Diane who lives down the road and is always at that flea market selling things, and then met with Cliff and strolled with him toward the area where there are other vendors selling all sorts of <strike>junk</strike>&nbsp;valuable stuff like chains, tools, bolts, and the like. &nbsp;The heat was already getting pretty intense; I left Cliff's side and walked toward a line of International tractors, and that's when the old depot caught my eye. &nbsp;There were unoccupied benches along the front of it, and the depot was providing an exceptionally inviting shady spot. &nbsp;I wish I had taken a picture of such a veritable oasis. &nbsp;I did take a picture of the tractors I was admiring as I sat there, though.</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4LXoQZeCBqM/VYcJhTwf8-I/AAAAAAAAVj8/6v9blD_xUDE/s1600/lathrop1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4LXoQZeCBqM/VYcJhTwf8-I/AAAAAAAAVj8/6v9blD_xUDE/s640/lathrop1.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>&nbsp;You can see what a lovely, protective shade was cast by the depot, and to make things perfect, there was a steady cool breeze. &nbsp;I fired up the IPad and played a couple of games of Sudoku, looking up often at the people strolling down the line of old tractors. &nbsp;Before long I saw Cliff; I joined him long enough to tell him what a delightful haven I'd found, then told him to enjoy himself and that I'd look him up later. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I sat down. &nbsp;I had turned on the IPad and started a new game when a man about my age approached and said, "Is that an IPod?" &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"It's an I<i>Pad</i>," I said. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>He started asking a lot of questions about it. &nbsp;He hates computers and has no desire to own one, but he would like a device on which he could keep names, addresses, and phone numbers, and also keep notes; he wondered whether he would have to have Internet to do such things on an IPad. &nbsp;I told him he would not, but suggested he find something cheaper than an IPad for his purposes. &nbsp;No need to spend a lot of money for what he wanted. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Then somehow the conversation turned, and I now know more than I ever wanted to know about the guy. &nbsp;Oh, he was a nice person, he just did more talking that I'm used to, and didn't really give me a lot of chances to converse back. &nbsp;Here are things I learned about him: &nbsp;He's a Shriner; he's a member of the Lathrop tractor club, but doesn't have a tractor because he doesn't have a garage where he could work on tractors. &nbsp;He used to work at the Allis Chalmers combine plant in Independence. &nbsp;I told him our tractor club president retired from there and gave his name. &nbsp;Oh yeah, he knows him. &nbsp;I asked his name so I could tell Bill I talked to him, and he said the people he worked with only know him as Rocky. &nbsp;Let's see, what else? &nbsp;Oh, he and his wife were married on Main Street in Lathrop in old-fashioned clothes because it was the town's centennial at the time. &nbsp;He once got autographs from John Kerry, two big fancy framable autographs... one for himself and one for his wife, but she sold hers for $250 and put a new tile floor in her porch and calls it the John Kerry porch. &nbsp;He also managed to talk to Bill Clinton and get his autograph, but Bill left the room to do it so others wouldn't see him and want the same favor. &nbsp;Oh, and the evil Bush family is somehow seeing to it that all of the jobs in this country are going to China.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Oh, I'm just getting started. &nbsp;He got back to the "I wish I had a garage" and I said, "Well, why wouldn't you build one? &nbsp;I know you could afford it if you worked at Allis Chalmers for thirty years." &nbsp;And I explained how Cliff and I went in debt to build his shop and it was the best thing we ever did. &nbsp;So then he had to tell me how he hates debt, but a few years ago he found a deal on the prettiest pickup in the world and got a loan. &nbsp;He made several payments on it, and one day got a call from the banker. &nbsp;I won't stretch the story out like this guy did, but turns out somebody who will forever remain anonymous paid off his loan. &nbsp;The banker was sworn to secrecy, but said it's someone Rocky knows well. &nbsp;He's tried to figure it out and has asked different people, but nobody will confess to doing it. &nbsp;He thinks they did it because he has always tried to help people, especially old folks. &nbsp;Every morning he drives around town (Lathrop isn't a very big town), gets out of his car, picks up the newspapers thrown in older folks' yards, and takes them to their porches, sometimes even placing it inside their screen doors.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"Well then, you should borrow money and build a garage and maybe the person would pay that off for you too." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I think that's about the time he decided to move on.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Actually, I did enjoy the whole conversation, and I truly believe he's a nice guy, even if he IS a Democrat and talks a lot (those who know me will realize I jest; I'm equally disenchanted with all political parties). &nbsp;Just before Rocky left me, a lady came over and sat on my bench, and a whole new conversation started. &nbsp;That will be another entry.&nbsp;</b><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/sidelined-at-tractor-show.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-7296334404983679810Fri, 19 Jun 2015 23:49:00 +00002015-06-20T05:18:57.138-05:00New calf on the place, and it isn't mine<b>Cliff's brother called me several days ago. &nbsp;One of his cows, an aged one, had birthed a calf. &nbsp;He had seen the calf following the cow the day after it was born, but had never actually seen it nurse, so he wasn't sure if it had gotten colostrum or not. &nbsp;Anyhow, three or four days after it was born, Phil found it lying off someplace by itself and the mother was showing no interest at all. &nbsp;So he got it to the barn and called me for advice on bottle-feeding a calf. &nbsp;The calf wouldn't get up, so he was bottle-feeding it lying down (a big no-no in my book... if I can't get them up, I tube-feed them). &nbsp;It would take a few sucks, then spit the bottle out. &nbsp;He'd force the bottle back in its mouth, it would suck a little... but it would not hold the bottle in its mouth without help.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I gave him what advice I could and thought very little about it for a couple of days. &nbsp;Then I told Cliff, "I think I should have offered to tend that calf for him until it's to a point where he can sell it." &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Cliff called Phil and told him, and he said he would be right over with the calf. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Phil has COPD and asthma, and he was having to bend over the calf trying to force-feed it the bottle in this hot weather and having an awful time breathing. &nbsp;So he and his wife were very happy for my offer. &nbsp;Meanwhile, when it comes to raising calves, I love a challenge!</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I have a way of making a calf stand up whether they want to or not, so while Phil and Faye watched, I made him get up. &nbsp;I straddled him facing forward and poked the bottle in his mouth, and he behaved in the same way Phil described. &nbsp;The only difference was that I had him on his feet. &nbsp;He would not, however, hold the bottle in his mouth and suck for any length of time. &nbsp;With patience, I was able to get a full bottle down him, which was more than Phil had been able to do. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>So now I was milking half a gallon of milk twice a day from Penny before I turned three calves in with her, and pouring it into a calf bottle. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>There are two kinds of calf bottles.</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKsFLaXlYwE/VYSmmBdNc0I/AAAAAAAAVio/75tStZ2Le64/s1600/bottles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MKsFLaXlYwE/VYSmmBdNc0I/AAAAAAAAVio/75tStZ2Le64/s640/bottles.JPG" width="478" /></b></a></div><b>Most people prefer the bottle on the left: &nbsp;the top screws on easily and the milk flows freely through the nipple so that the calf is done nursing in about 60 seconds. &nbsp;I have never cared for that one, though. &nbsp;It lets the calf get too much milk too fast. &nbsp;I would rather take a little more time and let the calf get his milk at the speed Mother Nature intended. &nbsp;The bottle on the right has a snap-on nipple, which is difficult for a lot of people to put on. &nbsp;I've probably put those snap-on nipples on thousands of bottles in my time, so I'm an expert at it. &nbsp;Now, when you buy a new nipple it does let the milk through very slowlly, so I always cut the opening a little larger. &nbsp;Still, it never lets the milk come out as fast as the screw-on bottle does. &nbsp;I'd say it takes a calf at least five minutes to empty it.</b><br /><br /><b>I had a hunch Blackie would do better with a snap-on nipple, but I seem to have lost the nipples for that kind of bottle, so I used the other one. &nbsp;Today, though, I picked up a couple of those nipples. &nbsp;Tonight, using a bottle with that nipple, the calf sucked eagerly without me straddling him and forcing him to hold the bottle in his mouth. &nbsp;If I took the nipple out of his mouth, he came forward searching for it and found it with no help at all from me. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I love it when things work. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KCIFAV7kLr8/VYSoK8GNN9I/AAAAAAAAVi0/JYESlYhQr3g/s1600/blackie1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KCIFAV7kLr8/VYSoK8GNN9I/AAAAAAAAVi0/JYESlYhQr3g/s640/blackie1.jpg" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>He's a big, strapping bull calf. &nbsp;We just want to get him healthy and vigorous enough so Phil can sell him. &nbsp;He does have one flaw:</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bA32c4JPEyU/VYSol8spgBI/AAAAAAAAVi8/XO9cvkhO360/s1600/blackie%2Beye.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bA32c4JPEyU/VYSol8spgBI/AAAAAAAAVi8/XO9cvkhO360/s640/blackie%2Beye.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>His right eye is cloudy. &nbsp;He seems to be blind in that eye. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>However, in today's market, if he has nothing else wrong with him, he'll bring a pretty penny. &nbsp;He's 100% beef, and that is a big plus compared to the dairy calves I raise for myself.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/new-calf-on-place-and-it-isnt-mine.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-712421506958807309Wed, 10 Jun 2015 19:20:00 +00002015-06-10T14:20:55.232-05:00I thought they were goners<b>I don't usually turn any of my chickens out until three or four o'clock in the afternoon, often even later than that, because that's what my grandma did; I think she had figured out there was less chance of chicken hawks snatching her hens late in the day. &nbsp;But the kid I babysit and I were working in the garden around 10 A.M. and I decided Mama Hen and her babies looked hot. &nbsp;I knew we had no plans to leave home today after spending several scorching hours at the zoo yesterday, so either Cliff or I would be outside a good part of the day. &nbsp;I turned them loose and then turned on the garden tiller and began tilling between the rows to get rid of the weed seedlings. &nbsp;Baby Girl played, sometimes running up and down rows and sometimes stepping over them. &nbsp;She shoveled dirt into a bucket and, in general, had a great time. &nbsp;I kept a good eye on her and tilled away, not giving a thought to the chickens.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>In fact, it wasn't until almost lunch time when we were back inside that I thought about Mama Hen and her brood: &nbsp;She is never too far from our yard these days, and I realized I had not seen her since I first turned her out. &nbsp;I went looking a couple of times, being sure to check in the open part of the barn where she and the chicks eat beetles like crazy every evening. &nbsp;Not a feather did I see, nor a cluck did I hear. &nbsp;And Mama Hen NEVER stops her constant clucking when she has babies.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>"I have a bad feeling about this," I said to Cliff. &nbsp;"Something isn't right. &nbsp;If something got her, the chicks don't have a chance out in the big world."</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>We ate dinner and I put Baby down for a nap. &nbsp;While she was still asleep, I went out and looked in all the usual places once more, being sure to check under the big Spruce trees behind Cliff's shop, because she hung out there often with last years' babies. &nbsp;I had wondered if perhaps a hawk had swooped down and tried to get her, and maybe she felt safe under the close cover of those tree branches. &nbsp;I really didn't have to look once I got there, because there was no cluck-cluck-clucking. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I strolled over to look behind the open shed near the hen's little cottage, started to turn toward the house, and suddenly heard the welcome, distant "cluck-cluck-cluck" I had been yearning for! &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>She WAS in the shade of some spruce trees, only she had chosen the five- and six-year-old Norway spruce trees just beyond the garden. &nbsp;I tried to get her to come to me, saying "chick chick chick", but she wasn't budging. &nbsp;That verified to me that something had scared her, because she always comes when I call: it usually means I have some sort of treat like stale bread and other leftovers, or chicken scratch grains. &nbsp;The chicks were complaining. &nbsp;You can always tell by the tone of their peep-peeping whether they are happy or not. &nbsp;I got the waterer out of their pen and carried it to their safe spot, where the mood of their peeping changed to happy as they quenched their thirst. &nbsp;I came to the house and grabbed a couple of left-over biscuits for them and counted them as they were eating: &nbsp;All nine were present and accounted for.</b><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vYfxjfubeWg/VXiMcfTrJsI/AAAAAAAAVgg/3CRrMl7dQk8/s1600/hen%2Band%2Bchicks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vYfxjfubeWg/VXiMcfTrJsI/AAAAAAAAVgg/3CRrMl7dQk8/s640/hen%2Band%2Bchicks.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br />http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/i-thought-they-were-goners.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-5431884482696436561Sat, 06 Jun 2015 13:28:00 +00002015-06-06T08:28:21.177-05:00I just baptized a hen<b>But let me start at the beginning. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>My mom always kept chickens during the first twelve years of my growing-up, so I soaked up a lot of knowledge about poultry without even trying. &nbsp;I played with the hens, sometimes taking a cardboard box and cutting "bars" in it to make a cage. &nbsp;I usually had one or two chickens that were tamer than the rest as a result of my handling them from the time they were one day old. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Sometimes a hen "goes broody", which means she quits laying eggs and sits on the nest on eggs the other hens are laying, hoping to hatch out some babies. &nbsp;If you follow this blog, you know that I currently have a hen outside that I allowed to hatch out some babies. &nbsp;Once a year is all the baby-chick-hatching I want. &nbsp;I get tired of trying to keep the pesky varmints from eating them, not to mention it's something extra to chore after. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>During this past week, I had yet another hen go broody. &nbsp;I only have four hens right now, and one of those is out of circulation because she is raising her babies. &nbsp;I don't need another slacker in the flock. &nbsp;I got tired of being growled at and pecked every time I reached under the newly broody hen and decided to "break her up" like my mom used to do: &nbsp;I put her under an upside-down tote (Mother used a wash tub), weighted it down so it didn't get tipped over, and left her. &nbsp;When my mom used this method, it only took two or three days in isolation and darkness for a hen to repent and re-join the laying population.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>However, this morning I tipped up the tote and she growled at me as only a settin' hen growls. &nbsp;I totally removed the tote and she promptly flew up to the nest and settled down on it, feathers all puffed out, as though she were setting on eggs (there weren't any eggs there). &nbsp;She was still wanting to hatch some babies! &nbsp;I don't recall my mom's method of breaking up a settin' hen ever failing, so I took to the Internet to see if I could find out what I had done wrong. &nbsp;I found my answer in <a href="http://poultrykeeper.com/keeping-chickens-faq/how-can-i-stop-a-hen-from-being-broody" target="_blank">THIS ARTICLE</a>.&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>When you cover the hen up, she shouldn't have any bedding beneath her. &nbsp;That feels like a nest, and she just goes ahead setting; the chicken-house floor is covered in wood chips. &nbsp;Well, I hate to put the old gal in isolation for another three days, with no food and water. &nbsp;The poor idiotic thing might starve to death! &nbsp;But as I read the article, I came across this: &nbsp;</b><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6666669845581px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Sometimes by taking her off the nest and dunking her lower half (underside) into a bucket of cool water until her feathers are wet can put her off. This could be a distraction for her as her instinct is now to dry herself off and preen her feathers by which time she may head straight back to the nest, or may have forgotten about the nest.</span><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6666669845581px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span><b>Hey, it couldn't hurt to try! &nbsp;I got a bucket of cold water and headed to the hen house. &nbsp;I don't do things halfway, so I not only dipped her underside into the water... I dipped her clear up to her neck, and then tossed her in with the others. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>She was still making settin-hen clucks, but instead of going to the nest, she went to the feeder and started devouring chicken feed. &nbsp;I came to the house and told Cliff what I had done, then went to check on her again. &nbsp;By this time she was on the edge of a nest, cackling her head off, but NOT sitting on the nest. &nbsp;I decided maybe she needed another baptizing, just to convince her. &nbsp;So once again I dunked her and returned here to write this blog entry.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>She was sitting on the nest. &nbsp;Obviously the double-baptizing didn't take.&nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4nIRX3_dYQ/VXLz5YPq4fI/AAAAAAAAVfc/Wa1AuGzTsew/s1600/broody%2Bhen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S4nIRX3_dYQ/VXLz5YPq4fI/AAAAAAAAVfc/Wa1AuGzTsew/s640/broody%2Bhen.JPG" width="478" /></a></div><br /><b>So, per the instructions in the article, she is now in a cage in a shed with NO soft bedding beneath her. &nbsp;She's bedraggled from her religious experience, but she'll survive. &nbsp;Let's hope she isn't too traumatized by all of this.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/i-just-baptized-hen.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-1056388879400217772Thu, 04 Jun 2015 10:29:00 +00002015-06-04T05:29:35.427-05:00Who knows why?<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;">There's a quote from the movie "A Christmas Story" that I often think of when Cora is here. &nbsp;Grown-up Ralphie is talking about his little brother, Randy, and says, "Every family has a kid who won't eat. &nbsp;My kid brother had not eaten voluntarily in over three years."</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;"><br /></b><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;">The toddler I babysit grows like crazy, so she obviously gets some nourishment somewhere, but the amount of food she eats at my house wouldn't sustain a sparrow; &nbsp;Nevertheless, at mealtime I dutifully give her a tiny portion of whatever we are having and hope for the best, taking satisfaction in the fact that she at least drinks the milk I pasteurize for her.</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;"><br /></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;"></span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;">I keep a plastic toddler plate here for her that's divided into three sections. &nbsp;The other day we had potato patties, green beans, meat loaf, and applesauce. &nbsp;I put a couple of bites of each in her plate. &nbsp;She actually ate about two bites of potato patty and one taste of applesauce. &nbsp;Then she proceeded to spoon applesauce from one section of her plate to another. &nbsp;After moving a couple teaspoonfuls of applesauce to a new section, she got a bite of potato on her fork and dipped it into her applesauce: &nbsp;"Dip!" she said victoriously, and proceeded, again and again, to dip pieces of potato patty into the applesauce, never once taking a bite, but smiling and saying "Dip!" with each bite. &nbsp;She &nbsp;was very happy and proud to be dipping! &nbsp;</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;"><br /></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;"></span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;">Things like this always make me curious about how her little mind is working. &nbsp;Did she learn to dip some sort of food at Grandma's house in Iowa? &nbsp;Have her parents been having chips and dip occasionally? &nbsp;But why would she decide that potato patties need to be dipped in applesauce? &nbsp;And why wouldn't she at least taste it after dipping?</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;" /><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.1999998092651px; line-height: 20.533332824707px;">Kids. &nbsp;Who knows why they do what they do?</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/who-knows-why.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-103586831718912897Mon, 01 Jun 2015 19:08:00 +00002015-06-01T14:08:46.747-05:00There's a chicken-killer on the loose<b>This morning when I went out for chores, it was quiet and peaceful, as usual. &nbsp;When I was done tending to cows and calves, though, and headed out of the barn toward the house, I heard a hen cackling frantically. &nbsp;At six in the morning, it's never good news when you hear a chicken sounding the alarm. &nbsp;The three hens and rooster in the main chicken house had to be safe, because ever since we saw signs of something trying to dig into their pen I have shut them up inside the chicken house at night. &nbsp;So I was pretty sure Mama Hen had to be the source of the noise, and looked toward her little house. &nbsp;Sure enough, she was frantically walking around her little pen cackling for all she was worth, and the feeder and waterer had been tipped over. &nbsp;I set the milk bucket down in the driveway and hurried over there to see what had happened. &nbsp;There wasn't a baby chick in sight; I could see Mama Hen had put up a good fight with whatever had invaded her space, because she lost a lot of feathers in the process. &nbsp;I opened the side door to the little house they sleep in and at first saw nothing, but then up against the wall I saw a couple of chicks flattened against the floor not moving a muscle. &nbsp;That's what chicks do when they are frightened: &nbsp;They flatten against the floor or ground and stay still; later I found the rest of them actually burrowed under their straw bedding. &nbsp;After I took my milk inside, I went back to see what could have gotten in. &nbsp;</b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zrfVjtvjSUw/VWyn9XCvA6I/AAAAAAAAVeo/m89f_MPnQmU/s1600/critter2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zrfVjtvjSUw/VWyn9XCvA6I/AAAAAAAAVeo/m89f_MPnQmU/s640/critter2.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>The critter left some poop behind. &nbsp;Cliff and I are guessing a raccoon, but could be a possum. &nbsp;Perhaps we have been falsely accusing that fox we were trying to trap. &nbsp;Oh well, we've caught three raccoons now, so if perhaps our efforts at trapping haven't been for nothing. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vPY8ZLrofQo/VWyo2ZowSSI/AAAAAAAAVe0/lGQr2JP56xA/s1600/critter3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vPY8ZLrofQo/VWyo2ZowSSI/AAAAAAAAVe0/lGQr2JP56xA/s640/critter3.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>There were dig marks on all sides of the pen and house.</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7RkY16tkpQA/VWynjqhb2FI/AAAAAAAAVeg/-crubErsgro/s1600/critter1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="478" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7RkY16tkpQA/VWynjqhb2FI/AAAAAAAAVeg/-crubErsgro/s640/critter1.JPG" width="640" /></b></a></div><b>This is where he tunneled in. &nbsp;Now, what perplexed us was the fact that this tunnel wasn't really deep enough to let a raccoon in. &nbsp;Then Cliff pointed out that a big raccoon could start squeezing under and the house would lift up. &nbsp;That has to be what happened, because all the evidence points to a raccoon or a possum. &nbsp;I now have nine chicks instead of eleven. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I knew I had to figure out something to prevent this from happening again, because the varmint has had a taste of fresh chicken and there's no doubt in my mind he will return tonight. &nbsp;Finally I came up with the idea of putting some wooden pallet-covers underneath the whole outside pen; there's a floor in the house, so it's dig-proof already. &nbsp; I thought perhaps we could secure the bottom to the wood somehow so that nothing could dig in. &nbsp;Cliff, though, had a better idea.</b><br /><b><br /></b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjDxNRcZAQI/VWyqz6dumZI/AAAAAAAAVfA/IWwYPTaDFmc/s1600/critter%2Bcliff.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjDxNRcZAQI/VWyqz6dumZI/AAAAAAAAVfA/IWwYPTaDFmc/s640/critter%2Bcliff.JPG" width="478" /></b></a></div><b>He drove a couple of steel posts between the two pallets and put a wire across the top of the pen, tightening it well. &nbsp;That door you see at the front of the pen will have to be wired shut, because if you are familiar with raccoons, you know that their little "hands" could easily turn that latch and open the door. &nbsp;The side door you see the toddler fiddling with will also have to be secured, as well as the nest box door on the back of the house; both of those have a simple hook latch that a raccoon could unhook. &nbsp;If you think I'm giving raccoons too much credit for intelligence, you've never gone camping in a Missouri state park and left your cooler outside overnight. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Mama Hen loves to scratch on the ground and call her chickens over to eat the bugs she finds, but she's going to have to settle for living on a board for awhile. &nbsp;I will probably start turning them out in the evenings before too long, and then they can make up for lost time.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/06/theres-chicken-killer-on-loose.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36183952.post-5136317274093630290Sun, 31 May 2015 14:38:00 +00002015-05-31T09:47:09.818-05:00I've always talked to myself<b>Until we left Iowa in 1953, I didn't have a lot of kids around to play with. &nbsp;Both my siblings were grown and gone by the time I was two years old. &nbsp;So I learned early on to enjoy my own company, and since I had a rich imagination, that was never a problem. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>By the time we moved to a small town in north Missouri where there were more neighbor kids, I was already set in my ways. &nbsp;Oh, when cousins and friends were around, I played with them, but most of the time I was fine on my own. I went to the theater in Eagleville almost every Saturday night, where most of the movies were B-grade westerns. &nbsp;For some reason, I always wanted the Indians to win when they fought with cowboys, although they seldom did. &nbsp;So when I was home, playing alone, I played Indians, with no cowboys in the picture at all. &nbsp;I played the parts of many Indians in one session: &nbsp;I would be the chief for awhile, then a squaw with a papoose, then a hunter pulling a travois I had lashed together myself with baling twine, then perhaps a medicine man. &nbsp;And believe it or not, all these characters had conversations with one another. &nbsp;Talk about multiple personalities!</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Sometimes I made up some kind of nonsense that I thought sounded like a different language, but most of the time I would talk in the one-word method I saw "Indians" use on the movie screen. &nbsp;It was a lot the way Cora, the child I babysit, talks. &nbsp;"Come," she says when she wants my company. &nbsp;"Sit," she says as she pats the floor, wanting me to join her in play. &nbsp;"Build," she commands as she picks up the fence pieces of the Little People barn set. &nbsp;"Reach," she tells me when something is too high for her to get. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I wonder if my mom ever listened in on my conversations. &nbsp;Probably not, since all my playing was done outside. &nbsp;I do recall Grandma mentioning that she heard me talking to myself outside during one of my stays with her.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>I don't recall talking to myself so much when my kids were growing up, although I often talked to whatever dog we had living with us in the house. &nbsp;I think talking to dogs and cats is just a safe way of talking to yourself without having people think you're crazy.</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>But these days it amazes me how much I catch myself talking out loud when nobody else is around. &nbsp;This morning in the garden I suddenly realized I had been carrying on a running conversation with various plants: &nbsp;"Well now, why are you so puny?" to one tomato plant; and, "How come everybody else has blooms and you don't?" &nbsp;"Whoa," I exclaimed to a beet whose bulbous root I was feeling by sticking my finger down in the soil (that sounds vulgar, doesn't it?)... you're about ready for a pot of borscht!"</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>The strange thing is that Cliff, who was raised in a large family and never used to talk to himself, is doing it now. &nbsp;Walking by the shop, I hear him almost daily, muttering to some project or other as he putters around. &nbsp;</b><br /><b><br /></b><b>Maybe it's just one more thing to chalk up to old age. &nbsp;Or maybe he picked it up from me. &nbsp;If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.</b>http://donna-justme.blogspot.com/2015/05/ive-always-talked-to-myself.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Donna)5